Misperception
by NobdyPtclr
Summary: Kind of makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just because people believed in them. Dean reflects on Sam's words during Hell House.


**Title:Misperception**

**Author:NobdyPtclr**

**Disclaimer:Anyone who believes they're mine, please let the WB know.**

**A/N:Takes place toward the end of "Hell House"**

_Kind of makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just because people believed in them._

It was with Sam's words echoing in his ears that Dean drifted off to sleep in their dingy motel room. The dream, when it came, was vaguely familiar and wholly unwelcome.

_Even at four, Dean did his best to please his parents, although not with the desperation that developed in later years. He'd heard the pride in his mother's voice when she told friends and relatives what a happy, well-behaved little boy he was, and seen her pleasure when other people complimented her on his behavior. He basked in the warmth of her pride and love._

_Dean woke up to strange noises down the hall. His first reaction wasn't fear – his parents' love was like a cocoon of safety – but curiosity. He sat up, but didn't get out of bed yet. Daddy said that big boys didn't get up in the middle of the night, except for bad dreams, tummy aches or the bathroom. It wasn't until he heard Mommy call out that he pushed his blankets aside and went to peek out his door._

_There was a strange flickering light coming from Sammy's room, and smoke curled lazily out around the doorframe. As he watched, Daddy came running up the stairs and into the room. Dean got his first inkling that something wasn't right, and he hesitantly crossed the hall and peeked into Sammy's room._

_Flames were licking at the wall by the window. Dean stared in fascination as wallpaper curled and the fringe on the curtain smoldered then burst into flame. He heard his mother speaking, but couldn't take his eyes off the fire. His fingers crept into his mouth, and now there was fear, spurred by the panic in Mommy's voice._

"_John! Take the boys downstairs and get the extinguisher!" She thrust the baby into her husband's arms, and turned back to the fire, pulling down the curtains._

_John was almost to the doorway when he saw Dean's eyes widen, then his son was shrieking. He spun around to see his wife engulfed in flames._

_As Dean watched, the flames seemed to leap out from the wall like a living thing – a predator. He saw his mother stumble over something on the floor. Staring hard at it he could make out Sammy's stuffed elephant, then the flames were licking at Mommy's nightgown, the flimsy material catching fire quickly. The flames raced upward and suddenly Mommy's hair – her hair was on fire, and she was screaming, and Dean was screaming too, and Daddy was shoving Sammy into his arms, telling him to run outside._

_His heart was pounding and Sam was heavy in his arms as he struggled to negotiate the stairs. Mommy had told him to use the railing so he wouldn't fall, but he needed both hands for his brother. He eased his way down, one step at a time, eyes wide and haunted. When they reached the lawn, he stared up at the flames looking for his mother. Dean wanted nothing more than for Mommy to hold him and tell him it was all a bad dream. Minutes passed and Daddy was there, taking Sammy and pulling Dean close to his side, but Mommy wasn't with him._

Dean bolted upright on the motel bed, knife clutched in his hand, teeth clenched to bite back the cry on his lips. Glancing quickly at Sam, he knew he'd been successful at suppressing the sound – Sam was lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep. Dean felt a surge of relief. He hated to interrupt his brother's rest, and this certainly wasn't a dream he was willing to share.

Realizing that his face was wet, Dean impatiently swiped away the tears he'd shed in his sleep. He was soaked in sweat, and he pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossing it in the direction of his bag. A shower would be great, but he didn't want to take the chance of waking Sam up at – he squinted at the clock – three-thirty in the morning. He sighed, imagining the hot water washing away the sweat and the memory of the dream but, lying back against the pillow, he pulled the blanket up to his chin and fought a brief, losing battle against his thoughts.

The dream was familiar to him. Although he hadn't had it in over twenty years, it had been a nightly event for the first few weeks after his mother's death. Until finally his dad had come to him and told him that it was just a dream – that mommy had been killed by a monster.

_Dean, I can prove it's a dream. That's not how Mommy died. She was pinned to the ceiling. You didn't even see her; I found you in the hallway._

He hadn't answered, of course; hadn't spoken to anyone for weeks. But in Dean's limited experience Daddy always had the answers and he always told the truth. The dream didn't stop, but it changed to fit his father's reality before eventually fading away.

_Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just because people believed in them._ Sam's words still echoed through his head and he looked at his sleeping brother again. This was a secret that couldn't be shared. Dean couldn't be sure if it was real, but either way the questions it would raise would drive another wedge – likely a permanent one – between Sam and Dad. If Dad had made up the demon, then he had probably intentionally lied – at least initially – and drastically changed the course of their lives. Dean didn't doubt that their father fully believed that a demon was responsible for the death of his wife, but what about in those first few weeks, had he realized the cost to his family? Dean imagined briefly the path they might have followed if Dad hadn't become so driven and obsessed. His heart skipped a beat thinking about Sam and the normal life he wanted – Sam could have had normal, without the pain of Jessica's death. True, he might not have known Jess in that other life, but he also wouldn't carry that burden of guilt. Hell, Jessica would likely not be dead. Dean sighed with the weight of that knowledge, never realizing that all of his regrets were for Sam – he gave no thought to himself.

It wasn't his way to dwell on the past, and Dean pushed his thoughts aside as he closed his eyes and tried to relax back into sleep. Even if Dad had created their demon, that didn't make it any less real now. And there were always plenty of other monsters out there to fight; plenty of people to save.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind and his eyes popped open. …_existed because people believed…_ If Dad had invented the demon, did he know it wasn't real? Did that mean that his own unquestioning belief in his father had given the demon form? Dean remembered the weeks after the fire, screaming himself hoarse every night – the only indication that he still had a voice. He remembered his father's tired expression and sad eyes as he explained the "truth" to Dean.

_Did Dad create the demon to salvage his own sanity or mine?_

Any chance of sleep was gone, and Dean stared blankly at the window. The curtains were drawn, but light from the parking lot trickled in around the edges. Movement from the ceiling fan ruffled the curtains gently and the light shifted, dancing against the wall like flames.

**The End**

**I realize this is a little twisted. Please let me know what you thought.**


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